


an infection

by antthea



Category: VIXX
Genre: Bartender AU, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, no one wants to die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23488090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antthea/pseuds/antthea
Summary: 1st dateanyone: haha so nice to meet youscorpio: have you read Anne Sexton's poem "Wanting to Die"?— astropoets on twitter
Relationships: Jung Taekwoon | Leo/Kim Wonshik | Ravi
Comments: 16
Kudos: 41





	an infection

**Author's Note:**

> important: despite the poem, no one is suicidal and the poem is referenced in a very light tone.

> _“What is the meaning of life? That was all – a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years, the great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one.”_
> 
> Virginia Woolf, To The Lighthouse

“It’s not a present-day perspective, either. Schopenhauer wrote that love comes entirely from a sexual drive,” Taekwoon paused briefly to take a sip of his drink. “And I know it doesn’t make sense, someone like me caring about what those dead men said—it’s weirdly heterosexual, all of it. But I was dragged because of music, how he believed in music as the purest form of art,” he smiled lightly after that, wondering where he stood between passionate and pretentious. “Schopenhauer said that music surpasses even the world of perception itself.”

The man in front of Taekwoon was fiddling with his cufflinks, not really aware that he should say something, keep the conversation going.

“I’m sorry,” Taekwoon said, sure he didn’t mean it. “I might have lost the train of thought.”

“We were—I asked if you usually went out with fans like me,” the man was confused, but wouldn’t hesitate in bringing it up again.

Taekwoon giggled then, trying to recollect all that he intended to say, repeating himself a little: 

“Yes, just remembered,” he was enthusiastic again. “Then I asked what theory about love feels more relatable for you, and you didn’t answer me, only said something about how the current society made you utterly sexual. Which brings it up again, I don’t think it can be all society’s fault. In Buddhism—”

“Leo,” the man interrupted him with a frown, “I’d like to excuse myself a little, I’ll go to the restroom and then we can keep talking.” 

Before he finished speaking, Taekwoon had already nodded and opened the menu to take a look.

Truth is, he didn’t really try dating fans, but the man was attractive and even traveled to Japan to see more of his concerts. Their similar tastes seemed interesting.

Ordering another drink seemed like a good decision, so Taekwoon tried to look for his assigned waiter. It took him a while, but then he noticed the guy was already coming.

“Hello Sir, I am terribly sorry to interrupt but one of our bartenders is calling you at the bar. It’s something I couldn’t deliver myself,” the waiter finished, looking a little afraid and as if delivering the worst news. “It’s the tall one.”

“Thank you”, Taekwoon answered. “I’ll talk to him.”

He wasn’t sure he would. He was tipsy, his date was having restroom problems and the bartender was probably a fan or someone interested. Maybe both.

In the end, he went, because his waiter disappeared and he never got his refill. _It’ll be quick_ , he told himself. Grabbing his check card, Taekwoon walked towards the bar.

Getting up and walking made him very aware of the fact that maybe he was trying to use alcohol to drown some of his misery, having never liked to drink much on first dates. Although, thinking about it, he deserved to feel less worried for one night. 

His best friend and manager, Hakyeon, had told him about a future European tour and Taekwoon just decided he had to do something different—not go home and argue with the piano. Hence the date. With his fan. 

He looked at those working at the bar and asked himself, _what was I looking for again?_

A guy with chubby cheeks and a face tattoo — _is it real?_ — looked Taekwoon in the eyes and proceeded to poke another bartender so he could notice the guest. The man promptly turned and gave Taekwoon a tiny smile barely showing teeth, approaching him. 

"You are Taekwoon, right?", and he was _serious._ Was he even a fan? 

Taekwoon got a bit uneasy, expecting another start. 

“Yes, me,” he said before losing any rational contemplation. Taekwoon’s clumsiness clearly amused the other man, that now tightened his lips in order not to smile.

“So, Taekwoon,” he continued, getting serious again. “A man a little taller than me told me to give you this and that he expected it could cover his expenses,” and then gave Taekwoon some cash attached together with a paperclip. 

That confused Taekwoon. _Why would a guy give me money,_ was his first thought, but he quickly made sense of it. The bartender didn’t notice Taekwoon's realization, though, so he kept going. “He looked a little older, well dressed…”

“Did he say anything else?” Taekwoon asked out of curiosity, not exactly happy but not too hurt either.

“Do you really want to know?”

_Well, now I do_. “Sure.”

“He muttered something about regretting not trying a dating app,” the man told him, trying to be careful. “He said—well, it doesn’t matter what he said, really.”

Taekwoon was thankful the bartender never finished. He understands the rejection, he understands being too much, but what he doesn’t get is how someone who knew his music, called himself a fan, would assume he would be an easy lay and just that.

As the bartender noticed Taekwoon’s small introspection, he excused himself silently to do something his colleague requested. It didn’t take him long to come back, though, asking Taekwoon if everything was fine.

Taekwoon deeply hopes he doesn’t look as miserable as the guy made him out to be.

“What should I call you, messenger?”, Taekwoon said with a voice a bit louder than usual. “I am Taekwoon, left at the altar, as you already know.”

His bartender then laughed for real, looking down and pressing his eyelids together. “My name is Wonshik.”

“Then Wonshik,” Taekwoon couldn’t help but give the man a self-deprecating smile. “If you give me a drink good enough to help me forget this night, this is your tip,” he then put his hand over the money Wonshik himself had handed to him.

Wonshik visibly agreed, though not enthusiastically, and started gathering utensils. Taekwoon noticed he didn’t measure anything or tried to show off some artistry and eye-catching tricks while he worked on it. In fact, he looked pretty stiff compared to his co-workers, not doing anything too extra. Except for the restrained dancing, if it could be called that, his body moving unconsciously and his lips muttering something along with it.

Taekwoon mused on how that night should’ve started off like that, him alone at the bar, happily ignoring the possibility of sleeping many hours before his early appointment with someone important — he can’t recall whom. 

The mistake was made, he wasn’t _offended_ at how his date acted, he was asking himself why he kept going through these experiences. Being misunderstood, accepting lazy flirting because he felt alone and being willing to share some of his thoughts with those that didn’t really want to hear them.

“Taekwoon?”, called a deep voice — Wonshik. “Hope you like your cocktail,” he then poured from a shaker, sifting the ice and garnishing it with a fruit slice.

“It _is_ pretty,” Taekwoon said ready to smell it and examine the fruit, its color and shape being really lively. “What is it called?”, he asked before taking a sip.

“It’s—I think you can call it ‘Left At The Altar’, then.”

It was a light joke, and Taekwoon appreciated it. His drink tasted nice, something in there barely familiar. It was fruity but not too sweet, and he appreciated the lack of ice because as a slow drinker, having it water down was a nightmare. _Maybe Wonshik knows exactly what to make for a failed date situation,_ Taekwoon thought, venturing back to how he should stop trying to do normal things, but was interrupted rapidly.

“Care to tell me what’s on your mind?”, Wonshik asked like he had all the time in the world. Maybe he had.

Taekwoon sighed, didn’t think too much before actually exposing what was on his mind.

“Do you happen to know the big answer to why we succumb to dating uninteresting people?”

Wonshik put down the cup he had in his hands and got closer. Taekwoon laughed, was he gonna really receive an answer to that? He feared Wonshik would make fun of his date.

“I have a theory, actually. If you want to hear about it.”

It looked like it could be a lecture, which made Taekwoon’s eyes lighten up. “Absolutely, yes,” he said holding his face with his hands, eyes showing that he might have been a little tipsy.

Wonshik tried to hide his own amusement, his nights were usually resumed to being a listener and agreeing to weird things. He quickly started sorting his thoughts to figure out if he was about to be too honest but looking into Taekwoon’s feline expression, he didn’t feel like he had to pretend.

“Ever heard of Pavlovian conditioning?”, Wonshik asked and kept going when his customer nodded. “So let’s begin with the arousal cycle,” he said, the word _arousal_ making Taekwoon more curious than he had been. “Especially as men, we grow up with a culture that is more than fine with us touching ourselves—and later, it’s even expected that we get around. Even men that aren’t straight, the inner circles expect that from—them.” 

_Got you._

“I have no idea where you are going,” Taekwoon told him. “But it’s not wrong.”

Wonshik looked around to see if he was actually needed, but even their part-timer was looking bored and stealthily eating strawberries. 

“What I was trying to say is, basically, that an orgasm closes the cycle. We get interested, we do something, we get the release,” he said so easily that Taekwoon expected him to wipe the counter and look ominous. He didn’t, he looked absolutely serious and sad, even. “So when someone hits on us — or we get a simple infatuation — it’s basically closing the cycle on our minds.”

“You mean we relate the possibility of cheap intimacy with the full effect of an orgasm?” Taekwoon asked mostly to take in the information and Wonshik felt dumb for being unable to put it all easily like that.

“That’s the conditioning,” Wonshik said as if they had come to an agreement.

“But what if we aren’t minimally attracted to the other person?”

“It could still stand,” was Wonshik’s worried answer. “But it can be easier than that.”

“Enlighten me, Sir,” Taekwoon spoke with not only shining eyes but a smile. He made a point to look sarcastic when saying _Sir_.

Wonshik let out a short sigh. “It’s loneliness,” he spoke. His face looked a little uneasy and Taekwoon noticed the way he pressed his lips together waiting for a reaction. “The lack of balance can be maddening.”

Taekwoon agreed, nodding but looking down for a moment. “What do you know of loneliness, though?”, a sip from his drink, eyes on Wonshik’s mildly furrowed brows. “You must meet so many people here.”

As soon as he spoke, he realized it wasn’t the smartest thing to say. Especially when seeing his phone screen lightening up with a picture of someone that would judge him. But his body felt weird and the barstool a hazard, so his tipsiness quickly erased any need to clarify that. 

Wonshik scoffed with a coy smile, fidgeting with the buttons of his uniform. “I’m not sure,” he said as the smile faded. “I figure it’s like celebrities,” and as he spoke, Taekwoon felt a sudden wave of sobriety.

It was hastily followed by a mild paranoia that Wonshik was playing dumb with him, which got him sure he wasn’t sober at all.

“You know, they have so many fans—but in the end, the fans don’t mean anything in terms of intimacy,” Wonshik explained.

His words stung Taekwoon not because they were harsh but because they weren’t. Taekwoon wanted to share, tell him how true it is, how much it hurt to have everyone and no one. He decided it wasn’t worth it to ruin this, have Wonshik looking up his name and lose the opportunity to talk about his life himself. For that, he let his dazed mind talk.

“Are you saying I don’t mean anything for you?”, he said, taking a gulp of his drink because he realized that was very flirty and desperate . _What the fuck, Taekwoon_ —

Wonshik laughed — again — and Taekwoon muses he wouldn’t mind hearing that constantly. He was sure he had to leave and end his night before something bad happened. His phone lightened up again.

“Your internal monologue seems complicated,” was Wonshik’s answer. “Please tell me the drink isn’t about to knock you out.”

“Oh, I’m fine—”, Taekwoon started to tell Wonshik but as his phone showed him, one more time, a very creepy smile that said _I’m going to hug you until you melt_ and _stop making jokes about stealing babies._

He picked up the phone and silently apologized to the bartender.

Wonshik saw an opportunity to try scolding the new waiter for being so smiley he seemed high. A lost cause, really, because the clients all loved him — and Wonshik couldn’t even be serious around the guy, he looked like a cute puppy looking for attention.

Wonshik heard bits of the phone call.

“I’m not home,” Taekwoon told his caller. “Yes, but he left,” he didn’t sound bothered at all. “Because I’m lonely, Yeon. I’m old and I’m lonely,” Taekwoon kept talking and Wonshik figured that was Taekwoon’s disappointed tone, but it faded as he laughed scandalously. “Believe what you want, old man. We are certainly lonely, though.”

Wonshik got surprised at how that smooth, soft voice, wasn’t because he was a stranger and Taekwoon was shy. No, that was just Taekwoon — so different from the rude man that handed him money.

“You are _always_ a recipient of my uber rides,” was the last thing Wonshik heard clearly.

_Is it still loneliness if it’s shared_ , he thought. _How old are you_ , he wanted to ask. _Being lonely isn’t the end_ , he wanted to say. 

Taekwoon typed on his phone’s notepad, slowly and frustrated. Wonshik tried to hide a smile, as that was such a relatable position. 

“Are you throwing me out?” he looked up and asked as Wonshik got close, which earned him a laugh.

“I can’t do that, Sir,” Wonshik replied, silently asking to clean up the counter.

Taekwoon didn’t let him take the cup without quickly taking the bright fruit garnish to eat, ending up with a scrunched face and a shiver.

“At least it’s pretty,” he told Wonshik, who quickly fixed him a cup of water.

“It’s not for everyone, the starfruit,” Wonshik added. “I like it a lot, especially paired with other things.”

“Not a loner, then.”

“Not a loner.”

🌟🍸

It was a night off for Taekwoon, but Wonshik wasn’t there.

Taekwoon considers what he should say, a way to have his answers that wouldn't bother the working man. _Where is your co-worker Wonshik?_ No. _Would you talk to me like he does?_ Too forward. _Is your smile as shy as his?_ It wasn’t, he had just seen it. The new guy smiled like he was having the time of his life, every time. Taekwoon had no useful thoughts—but spoke anyway.

“Hey,” he called the barman. “What’s your working schedule? Like, days and time?”

Were he in a rational state, he would have promptly regretted it. But this time, he thought it was pretty articulate. Were he a little less blinded by that pursuit — Wonshik’s —, he would have seen the barman cringing before trying to be polite.

“I’m very flattered but I’m afraid that changes every two weeks or so, I can't guarantee much.”

Were he able to deal with any frustration, he wouldn’t have ended up squealing with his face against the bar counter, feeling disappointed and foolish.

🌟🍸

"Sorry I'm late," Wonshik said, getting behind the counter. "You wouldn't believe it, Bin, my dog chewed on my clean tie."

"You are actually not very late and that's a poor excuse," was the sincerity his colleague, Hongbin, could offer. "Please don't ever tell little boss something like that, own your mistakes.”

“Like telling him videogames made me late?” He deadpanned, making Hongbin smile. “And he’s not little,” Wonshik argued.

“I’m relatable and now he plays with me,” Hongbin told him. “Also, he’s a baby.”

“He is,” he gave in. “A big one.”

Hongbin never thought Wonshik would end up liking the job. He also never thought Wonshik would be able to keep the job, seeing how even their eventual part-timers could do all the tricks Wonshik never got the hang of. 

However, Wonshik was hardworking, extremely charming and, as if he waited all his life for a job like that, didn’t mind staying up late. 

_Little boss_ was younger than most of them, born into wealth but forever humble — coy, even. He liked Wonshik from the start, said that admired his reliability. Even if not always there, Sanghyuk made a point to assist all job interviews and approve all of the food. This is why, precisely, Wonshik now trusted the only man more clumsy than himself: the new waiter.

After changing to his uniform, Wonshik inhaled air as if preparing and got behind the counter. It was a usually busy day of the week, if not the most, but working with Hongbin always got him in a good mood.

“I’m so glad we got the same shift,” he confesses, even if avoiding eye contact.

“I live two blocks away from you, you can visit,” Hongbin told him with a smile. “By the way, about our shift—earlier this week, an extremely weird guy came here and demanded to know my shift.”

“You have to tell these guys off, Bin, even if they buy stuff,” he said while smelling the ice machine for any malfunction signal.

“But you see, he wasn’t interested in me,” Hongbin argued, making Wonshik roll his eyes. “I mean, he didn’t look threatening and ended up sulking alone with his phone.”

Wonshik wondered if Hongbin could be dumb and not realize he’s usually the most handsome man around. 

“Stop trying to take care of me, he was harmless and sort of sweet,” insisted Hongbin as he noticed Wonshik’s furrowed eyebrows. “He even asked for a drink with that fruit you like, though he didn’t know its name.”

Eyes wide, fluttering chest. _Why am I like this_ , he thought, while Hongbin failed to notice his change of expression.

“Do you remember how was he called?”, Wonshik asked _just to be sure_.

“No,” Hongbin answered, a little confused. “Woosung was talking about him with one waiter, though,” he remembered, then waved his hand to call the waiter, who smiled at the attention.

“Everything alright?” the waiter asked, a little unfocused, looking around to check his empty tables.

Wonshik got lost in their banter until he heard his name. “Sorry, what was it about me?”

“I told Binnie you probably have Leo’s number.”

“Who’s Leo?”, he asked sincerely.

Hongbin would joke about Wonshik being only functional for work, but a laugh from the waiter interrupted him.

“I don’t have my phone on me, do any of you?” he asked them. “I need to show you something.”

  
  


🌟🍸

  
  


Taekwoon returned a week later or so, a really slow day at the restaurant but not exactly the same for him.

“This place is basically just people that think music died in the 70s,” he told Hakyeon earlier. “I went there and no fuss happened at all, you know people here are polite.”

“Is it another date?”, Hakyeon raised his eyebrows.

“Would I be inviting you to go along—,” he answered with sudden regret.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Hakyeon said, resuming his work with dates and numbers that Taekwoon could swear would be forever a blur.

So he went alone, despite his best friend’s concerned looks.

  
  


🌟🍸

Due to the restaurant’s crowded state, Taekwoon wasn’t able to talk to anyone more than the necessary to get his colorful juice.

He observed Wonshik, who stared back a couple of times, smiling. Taekwoon thought for a while that he was just interested in being listened to or comforted, but as their silent looks kept happening, he just accepted how good it felt to just be around.

Their dialogues weren’t very linear. Wonshik told him they had very different backgrounds, careful not to mention what he knew about Taekwoon’s life — and Taekwoon himself insisted on how they were probably from different generations, claiming it was useless for Wonshik to try and understand him. Wonshik found it offensive, only to minutes later forget all about it.

“Your hair is kind of on your face today,” Taekwoon said when they were finally close enough to talk normally. He wasn’t lying, it was noticeable how the tidy haircut was morphing into a very rebel look.

“Yours is a mess,” Wonshik got back at him. Then added, playfully, “Sir.”

🌟🍸

Sometimes a month went by without Taekwoon. He never explained much, but Wonshik knew his life was going at a different pace. That never stopped Wonshik from reading him, though.

“Come on, why the long face?” Wonshik asked Taekwoon, who couldn’t hide behind the drink Hongbin gave him.

“Your face is way longer than mine,” he answered, trying not to smile. Wonshik stared like Taekwoon had made the worst dad joke at a family dinner — so Taekwoon didn’t go further, spilling instead. “Do your clients treat you badly sometimes?”

“All the time, to be honest,” Wonshik said, not even thinking much.

“Do they look at you weirdly? Like they—”

“Like they have the right to?”

“Yes,” Taekwoon replied, sighing. “I just—I’m just tired of thinking I’m admired for what I do and then,” he looked down. “And then being basically assaulted—”

Wonshik didn’t fret when reaching softly, having a couple of his fingers over Taekwoon’s resting hand. Taekwoon observed, the closest he ever had, the ink around Wonshik’s wrist.

“I’m sorry that happened—happens to you,” Wonshik said, looking at his own cheap rings next to Taekwoon’s intricate ones. He brought his hand back to himself. “Don’t let them make you think there aren’t people who like your work. I’m sure you are great at it.”

“You can’t be sure,” Taekwoon told him, feeling guilty for his bitterness. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s fine to doubt yourself.”

Taekwoon’s expression got a little lighter.

“But believe me, I’m a bartender, I’m usually right,” Wonshik said with a cocky smile. “I’ll get you a latte, alright?”

🌟🍸

None of the bartenders had seen Taekwoon for almost two months before the day he arrived a little late and found a seat at the very corner of the counter. It would be his typical fashion if it weren’t for a purse seemingly empty, the new hair color and noticeable fainter eyebrows.

They had already closed and were only waiting for the last clients to go home, but Jaehwan, the waiter, was very fond of Taekwoon and had problems acting minimally tough to send someone away.

Wonshik blinked a little before realizing it was indeed Taekwoon, very tired and very, very blonde. He had no accessories on, his face makeup was the only thing indicating he actually meant to go out.

Hongbin approached Taekwoon, whose eyes reacted to the deep, soothing voice in just too predictable way.

“Do you want something, then?”, he asked. “This is my corner today,” and smiled.

Taekwoon felt less tense, Hongbin had a nice energy around him, always. Even if his smiles felt directed to the world and never to Taekwoon himself.

“But he’ll get here,” he told Taekwoon, who didn’t even notice the subtle winking.

It didn’t take more than ten minutes for Wonshik to get a breach, but it felt like a long time as he found Taekwoon to be just a mop of hair resting on his crossed arms, asleep — at the counter.

He couldn’t help being worried, but as voices were discussing things like _‘he asked me to lay him on the floor if he slept’_ and _‘that’s not funny at all’_ , he laughed a little. Wonshik carefully approached Taekwoon and only touched the counter next to him, and that was enough to wake him up.

“I’m so sorry,” was the first thing he said, a little embarrassed.

“It’s alright,” Wonshik quickly affirmed. Taekwoon still looks unsure, so he says, “you’ll have to do a lot before being rightfully sorry.”

They smile, aware that Hongbin was at that exact moment trying to be civil with a woman speaking louder than the suitable. 

Taekwoon remembered how easy it was to be there. He didn’t have to worry about being too sad, too unsure. Not about being too excited or too sure. If he ended up arguing, there was no need to commit to a mistake, so he apologized. 

As they talked, he didn’t want it to end. He felt light.

Wonshik didn’t buy it, though. Taekwoon was always too vague, but never avoiding, so Wonshik could see something was off.

“Why did you come in so late?”, he questioned as soon as the last actual client left. It took long for Taekwoon to come up with an answer. “ _Sir._ ”

And like that, they were laughing.

“I can’t stand my own home,” Taekwoon confessed as if it were the weather.

“Where will you go now?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, gesticulating to look less miserable — a lesson from his best friend. “I don’t want to go to places that are either insanitary or coldly sterilized,” he sighed. “And I can’t tell my best friend any of that because he worries too much.”

“Shouldn’t he?”

“No,” he said simply. “I’m just tired of the noises around my apartment. Tired of my furniture, tired of my own perfume lingering everywhere — and I haven’t even been using it.”

Wonshik could relate, so he didn’t argue. His creativity got easily clouded when just stuck home.

“We need to close the bar, should we help and drop you somewhere?”, he offered Taekwoon, whose sleepy expression got a little softer.

Wonshik didn’t talk about anything too deep, figured Taekwoon couldn’t understand much even if he wanted to, the tiredness seeming overwhelming.

The team was mostly done by the time Wonshik stopped chatting and figured he would go home in his uniform to wash it.

“Come on then, Inseob will firstly drop off our baby Woosung because it’s too late and his parents will—”

“Shut the fuck up,” retaliated Woosung, not too serious but still making a point, claiming the front seat.

“He’s feisty,” Hongbin tells Taekwoon as they all enter the car.

The car had barely passed a few blocks before Taekwoon, resting his head on the door window, fell asleep again.

“Take him with you, let him sulk somewhere that is used to sulking,” Hongbin said to Wonshik, careful to not be loud.

“I can’t do that,” he replied, waiting for his other coworkers to back him up. They didn’t, just hummed some underground hip hop song.

“He’s completely sober, just asleep,” Hongbin insisted. “Come on, you guys are friends.”

Wonshik looked at him, then at Taekwoon, and sighed. He carefully touched Taekwoon’s shoulder to wake him up.

“Do you want to spend the night at my place?”, Wonshik prompted. “We’re about the same height, you could borrow something comfortable.”

🌟🍸

As they went up the stairs, Wonshik wondered when it would be a good time to say something. It wasn’t Hongbin with takeout, going for a meal and a drink. It wasn’t his sister about to make his dog crazy. It was Taekwoon, _left at the altar_ , secretly famous, always beautiful Taekwoon.

“Thank you,” he spoke before Wonshik, soft and sincere.

Wonshik couldn’t really process an answer because they were already reaching his door, and he had something else to say.

“You’re about to find out I’m really messy.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Taekwoon said, serious but fond. “That has always been clear.”

Wonshik smiled looking down, to himself only, Taekwoon couldn’t see him as he faced the door.

The sudden barking startled his guest.

“I had forgotten you had a dog.”

It was unavoidable to laugh at how excited the dog was, even with the unknown guest. Before Taekwoon could even pet him, he started nibbling on Taekwoon’s ankles.

“I’ll put your shoes up here so he can’t reach it,” Wonshik said, carefully looking at the intricate dress shoe, something he couldn’t pay attention behind his counter. “You must be real tired still. If you want a change of clothes, I have spare unused underwear.”

Taekwoon hummed while looking around a little. _Underestimated the mess._ He almost gasped when seeing some really amateur studio setup, but got interrupted by Wonshik bringing him clothes.

“How do you have so much spare underwear, do all of your clients end up here?”

Wonshik got embarrassed for a second, before noticing Taekwoon wasn’t making fun of him. “No,” he answered. “These were gifts and I don’t like briefs very much.”

Taekwoon hummed again, with a tiny smile. He’d say _good, I can’t wear anything else_ , but chose to only show his quiet gratitude.

He showered as if that water could clean all it couldn’t even reach, erase all touches he never cherished, let failures down the drain. He wondered if running away like that could change something, spark his mind — if he would look at his piano and not sigh.

After that, he refused taking Wonshik’s bed, said he was so tired anything would be perfect. Much insisting and he settled for a spare mattress sort of cramped in Wonshik’s living room. He wanted to stay up and talk, wanted to ask about all the weird things around, but the tiredness overwhelmed him in a way even his speech felt dragged.

Wonshik found him asleep as he left the shower and went to say goodnight, unable to look away as the messy blonde hair fell on Taekwoon’s face, now bare and a little flushed. There was a small mole under his eye, Wonshik observed for a bit, wondering how such soft features made him feel a little weak.

He set up the little fence for his dog, whispering _Butt, be civil_.

🌟🍸

Taekwoon woke up early and not by choice, but with a phone call that he rejected. He felt a small ache around his shoulders, hugged himself a little just to take in how that place felt, how those clothes smelled.

Wonshik got up not much time after, asked him if he wanted coffee. Taekwoon said yes, ignoring yet again a phone call. His host was wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants, and Taekwoon noticed way more tattoos than the one he could always see peeking from the sleeves.

Taekwoon got curious about what could be the etiquette. He wanted to know details, talk, get to know that part of Wonshik, the thick and thin lines. It was compelling, he wanted more of that world. His phone rang.

“I’m gonna take this real fast,” he told Wonshik, who stood there, wondering.

_What did I get myself into_. 

Wonshik watched his guest on the phone, barefoot, nervously walking in circles, unkempt hair looking funny. He asked himself if it was weird to be attracted to someone that trusted him like Taekwoon did; why Taekwoon never mentioned music at all and hated how it made everything even more interesting.

_Should I tell him I know?_

“I should get dressed,” Taekwoon told him as soon as he finished his call.

“Please, be comfortable,” he answered — instead of screaming, which he did on his mind only.

“I’ll still drink coffee with you,” Taekwoon spoke little louder on his way to the bathroom.

Wonshik smiled, more fond of that voice than ever.

He felt stupid, so boyish, back at having no idea how to voice his feelings and searching for the romantic confidence he’d never had. He wrote about a scar turning a cheek unique, about eyes as attractive as music, a voice soft but so powerful. 

It made him blush, how he could write all of that and never say anything — the fact that he couldn’t stop himself from seeing his friend as witty, sweet, tempting.

Wonshik was on autopilot while he went to help Taekwoon out of the building, sure he’d say something stupid once or twice.

But Taekwoon noticed, right before leaving. 

“Wonshik,” he almost whispered, but was heard, as Wonshik looked directly to him. “I think we should go on a date.”

🌟🍸

Eyes on his phone and compulsively twisting a ring, Taekwoon didn’t notice his date arriving. Getting up, he felt himself licking his lips to postpone any greeting, to let Wonshik speak first. 

As Wonshik did, but not before gently bowing.

“Hey,” he said when Taekwoon returned the silent greeting, a small piece of his teeth visible through the smile.

Taekwoon asked himself one more time how such a timid smile could make him blush more than any obscene talk or gesture. _It’s like he’s baring his soul_ , he told Hakyeon once, who didn’t fail to just tell Taekwoon he was too smitten.

“Let’s sit,” Taekwoon said grabbing Wonshik’s hand and pulling him towards the table. “I put a chair by my side so you can see the quartet play.”

Wonshik was sure one of his limbs would give up before he even got to the chair. _So that’s why I don’t date_ , he thought, softly shaking his head to get rid of it.

“If you want to, of course,” Taekwoon added. “I don’t mind just looking—not looking at them.”

“I want to,” Wonshik answered, sitting down.

They weren’t extremely close, but closer than Wonshik expected. 

“Have you read Anne Sexton’s poem ‘Wanting to Die’?”, Taekwoon blurted while Wonshik made himself comfortable.

“I don’t think so,” Wonshik answered, glad things were as weird as they had ever been.

“Do you read a lot of poetry?”

“Not much, no,” he told Taekwoon, before remembering it was fine to talk about himself. “But I write it. Sort of.”

“Oh, what do you mean sort of?”, Taekwoon asked, face lit up. “Is it music? You write music?”

“I do—”

“I’m here hoping you also sing, is that weird?”, he interrupted Wonshik. “I think a lot about your voice.”

“Still, sort of?”, Wonshik answered, not knowing how Taekwoon could just say such things. “And thank you. I hope you know your voice is quite unique, the way you talk and—”, _sing_ , he’d say.

“You write songs and sings them but only sort of?”

“It’s rap,” Wonshik confessed. “It’s what I write, mostly. And do.”

“Oh,” Taekwoon took some time to process. “I don’t know much about rapping.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to—I mean, you don’t look the type,” he explained. “I have a friend with a soothing voice like yours but, yeah, that’s about it for similarities.”

“I could rap,” Taekwoon stated, making Wonshik smile with his entire face.

“Confident, I like it,” he said. “But you probably could, yes. You must know your breathing and limits very well—”

Taekwoon blinked a couple times, noticing how Wonshik stuttered.

“Do you know?”, he asked, trying to hide his own unreasonable shame. “How long? I feel stupid.”

He did feel stupid, but it didn’t stop him from feeling lighter, more of himself.

“You are not your artist persona or it’s public image,” Wonshik said when he was sure they could look eye on eye. “Your music made me feel closer to you, though.

Like that, he no longer felt stupid — not for hiding. Just for the way he knew his eyes were revealing all about his feelings, his curiosity.

“Do you like it? The songwriting? The performances?”

“It’s something. I mean, I really, really do. I get a little sad if I think about some lyrics and others are, well, they are—”, he started answering before a waitress interrupted them, to check if they wanted something.

Wonshik ordered a drink, and Taekwoon was unsure about his.

“Could you tell the waitress about the cocktail you made when we first met? I’ve been meaning to drink it again,” he said, excited.

“It’s—it’s a famous drink, I just changed something to make it more you,” Wonshik replied. Both of them looked at him. “It’s called ‘angel face’. I just changed the fruit to suit you better.”

As soon as the waitress left, Taekwoon laughed loudly, face all red — just like Wonshik’s. Wonshik wasn’t sure what he could do to hide how exposed he felt.

“So the drink you made just for me is called ‘angel face’?”, Taekwoon teased. “You were flirting with me since day one?”

“I was not!”, he answered. “You weren’t supposed to know!”

“You are not allowed to try to poke fun at my horny songs ever again,” Taekwoon told him, still lighthearted, then placed a hand over his. “I knew where you were going to get.”

“What was about Anne Sexton?”, Wonshik nervously said.

Taekwoon held his hand tighter and smiled.

“I’m think a lot about what love could mean to people,” he answered. “The poem is, obviously, about the wish for death — and how much is left behind. But the thing is, she ends it talking about love, and I can’t stop thinking about it,” he sighed. “It’s like death is our purpose, and wanting it is a default. It says whatever love we feel, is just an infection — it keeps us sick with life.”

“Do you believe that?”, Wonshik asked. “Is that your favorite theory about love?”

“I don’t know,” Taekwoon sighed, going for Wonshik’s cheek but kissing his hair, as he moved to clean a single dog hair on his shirt.

“What are you doing?”, Wonshik asked, a little startled.

“I don’t know,” he repeated, now looking down. “Infecting you?”

Wonshik wanted to laugh, but his chest felt heavy, pounding. They slowly looked at each other again and smiled. Taekwoon’s shame disappeared with that smile. 

Wonshik got closer, whispered something. 

Their hands intertwined.

“No one is looking,” Taekwoon said back, his usual quiet tone making it mischievous.

Wonshik looked around, then at Taekwoon again. He gave in. 

The chaste kiss seemed impossibly slow, but as soon as it ended, it felt like a hummingbird’s flutter of wings.

“You infected me some time ago.”


End file.
